I wasn’t one to show off, but alas, life is short.

  And it was getting shorter every second I was trapped in the cell. How exactly I was going to get out of this one, I’d no idea. Not really.

  There were a number of obvious obstacles that I would have to shorn before escape was possible.

  The bars of the cage, no doubt, had some kind of spell or enchantment on them. It had crossed my mind that the cultists were waiting for me to reveal my magical aptitude in order to discern how useful I could really be to their aims. They had also not put me in magic dampening shackles, which only furthered my suspicions. I’d heard stories of mages being kept alive for weeks or even months so their blood could be drained over and over again.

  That was a true nightmare.

  And its implications were what had my heart beating like a thunder drum.

  Of course, I did have options. They had not taken away my ability to do magic. Or access to my hidden cache of things. But to even touch these things would no doubt set off the enchantment and I was not confident enough that my one chance would be good enough to get us out.

  I would have to be more subtle.

  Then I lied to you. I would not be showing off today. At least not to the degree someone like you, as to say, a non-magical person, might think. You might be hoping I’d finally show some adept skill at this magic thing. That maybe, just maybe, I really have been hiding some great power.

  I can’t tell you how much I wish that were true.

  If you haven’t already forgotten the previous installments of this doomsday guide, then you should remember me mentioning my folly while in the clutches of Humphrey. How my desolation nearly killed us all.

  Let’s say, for the sake of your understanding, that I did attempt such a thing here. Even with the heightened level of magic in the air, it would only increase the likelihood of such a devastating event. I could attempt to call on the Will of Calastros, the skies, the earth, to wreak havoc on these Cultists. Such a request of power could be met with disdain and the great spirits that inhabit the power basins of our world could simply strike me down for even attempting it. My heart could explode, my brain turned to mush, my body turned to ash.

  Magic is a fickle thing, and you never have as much control over it as you may think.

  There are those who pull the strings of power without a care in the world.

  I’m not one of them.

  My little magics are but a whisper to the true wielders.

  The true wizards that through intensive study and experimentation have tamed certain aspects of the magical world. This too, was not me.

  Take the Cutlists, for instance, they rely on a much calmer form of magic. Drawn from the blood power of other beings. Namely, humans. Orcs. And even elves if they can get their hands on them. Once they are out of their source, they seek more. They are limited by the physical amount they've acquired.

  But they pay for their choice of method by it being evil. Their souls will be punished and sent to the Void.

  Even the best mages in the best academies throughout Calastros do not wield magic as an overwhelming force. Or as some sledgehammer. It is a subtle thing. Many grow crops with it. Seek knowledge. Communicate across great distances. There are so many uses beyond the most obvious martial use.

  Now, that is not to say a mage or wizard could not latch onto a cord of magic and commit atrocities. It has been done. But it was not the norm, despite what you might think. Or what you might have heard.

  Ah, I’m getting muddled and you’re probably thinking I’m trying to stall again.

  Magic, when it comes down to it, is a whisper call into the vast labyrinth of energies, both formed and formless that flow through the ever-shifting meshwork of the world. Everything has energy. All energy can be used. But when you reach out to tap into other magics, you are risking the unknown.

  Of course magic has always been used by those less than stellar folks to kill, murder, and maim. But after the god’s Great Sleep, and before the Worm, there was a time of veritable peace, where magic was used to enlighten, and raise the many peoples of the land to new heights.

  I yearn for that time.

  Instead, I’ve become a conduit of nameless power in a time of mindless violence.

  I’m getting mopey.

  You may call me a coward, and in this respect, you would be right to do so. I am meek now, in my pursuit of this alternative kind of life I seek.

  Would it not be worth it, say, for the good of all the tortured lands, to risk this dissolution of myself in pursuit of the cultists' eradication?

  This thought haunts me.

  By the gods, this cage has me falling into madness.

  I could already feel a headache coming on and I haven’t even coaxed a plan out yet.

  Gadfly watched me pensively. His demeanor was that of a father waiting for his child to figure out some secret. “I am watching but I am not learning,” he said eventually.

  I scowled at him and snapped, “Quiet. I’m thinking.”

  “Much more thinking and we won’t have to worry about thinking anymore. Or anything else for that matter.”

  “You’re making me want to let them take you.”

  He shrugged his big shoulders and leaned his head back against the bars, closing his eyes. “Just let me know if we’re going to get butchered or not.”

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  My gods, he was almost as annoying as I was.

  I focused back on the problem at hand. In truth, my options were limited. Which is why, in situations like this, it’s best to reflect on other similar experiences that may lend…insight into your current one.

  Lucky for you, you have me.

  Lucky for me, I also have me. And I’d been through the wringer a time or two.

  There was a moment in time, several years ago, near the Trident Levant, where the great sandhill fingers meet the green waters, that I found myself in a situation similar to this. It was one of those moments that made me realize I needed to vanish so completely my former life would not catch up to for a very long time.

  They’d caught me in bed after a long night of nebulous activities, and planned to either sell me to the highest bidder or toss me off the dock and let the hairfish have at me. Their idea of entertainment.

  In my desperation, I’d made a ploy where I lured in a specific kind of pitviper from the sandpits. The kind that fed on excess magic. Siphoning that much magic from myself had nearly killed me. But it had worked.

  So, how does this apply to my current situation? Well, even this far north, there are still creatures who feed on magic. Or are at least drawn to it. They might not be as vicious, but they do have one very specific quality in which I am very interested in.

  Their teeth are damn near indestructible, and they can chew through just about anything.

  They are called hyde beetles and they love nothing more than a little magic to feast on.

  But, Madcap, you said you can’t use magic.

  True, good catch.

  But I won’t be using any spells. I will, not-so-simply, be injecting more magic into the spell on the cage, feeding it until it attracts our friends.

  Then, with some subtle manipulation, I’ll redirect the magic toward the ground.

  It is an unusual method. Dangerous, perhaps. And indeed, it will take no small amount of cautionary delicacy. But when death is the other option, you take risks.

  And yes, the excess ambient magic in the air would make this trickier. But it would also give me a cushion. It made everything more prone to fluctuations, even blood magic, which the incumbent spell had no doubt been made with.

  I shifted my body so I could, rather inconspicuously, put my hands on the bars of the cell. The metal was cold, and only after a bit of concentration did, I actually feel the slightest bit of magic coursing through them.

  It was subtle and dark. Tinged with that latent violence that so often accompanies the ruinous kinds of magic.

  Magic, like all things, has its own shades. Though it follows no moral framework, as it is just energy, it still bears the signs of malice, or benevolence, determined by the manner of its creation.

  Blood magic is a simple one. Even if one uses their own blood, it is marred by the taking of lifeforce, and more temperamental because of it. Different even from the draining of one's own energy, as I would momentarily.

  I’m preaching again.

  I’ll just get down to it.

  Drawing upon my own body’s energy, I slowly fed it into the spell, akin to letting a rope slide through my fingers. The spell wanted more, as most do. Endlessly hungry, were most pieces of magic. Once created, it sought to gorge itself.

  A vacuum, so to speak.

  The bars quickly grew warmer, and I backed off slightly, not wanting to give it too much. It could cascade if I gave it too much. Sticking your fingers into another magician's spell work was risky. But blood magic, as I’ve said before, is an entirely different beast. Separate from other forms by the fact that another’s blood was used. This separates further the caster from their spell.

  It would be these cultists' downfall.

  The redirection of magic was no small feat, nor a perfect science, so I did my best.

  And when I felt the spell had enough, I withdrew.

  Gadfly was watching me when I opened my eyes.

  I ignored him and waited.

  It was petty but I wanted him to eat his words. He was a little too full of himself and he needed to know he was only getting out of her because of me.

  Now listen, I know that sounds bad, and I really should just be happy to have some help but…well, I prefer to be petty, quite honestly. At least in this instance.

  He went to open his mouth, and I knew he was going to say something stupid before I raised my eyebrows. He closed it again.

  The silence was burdened only by the crackling fire in the main hall and the shuffle of footsteps. Whispers occasionally drifted in, but those cultists had been damn near mute since throwing me in here.

  I didn’t trust it. But we still had our heads, and no one had come in after I’d messed with the spell.

  “Do you know why the cultists are here?” I asked eventually.

  Gadfly splayed his hands in a who knows gesture that made the chains jingle. “We didn’t do much talking.”

  I gave him a fake smile. “You don’t say.”

  His eyes glinted and he said, rather cheekily, “Afraid they’re after your artifacts?”

  It had crossed my mind, obviously. It was also my attempt at deducing his true intentions. The whole revenge and blood story was wearing thin on me. Perhaps there were some bandits or other unsavory characters in these hills that I wasn’t aware of, that were the target of his ambition.

  But it was all too…coincidental.

  And I didn’t like feeling like a puppet on a string.

  “And I use the word your loosely…” he added.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Are we waiting for something in particular?” he continued. “A stiff breeze or a particular cloud, even.”

  “Just a couple of friends,” I told him.

  His eyes widened and he looked around the room, then leaned forward and whispered, “Are these friends in the room with us?”

  “You are a piece of work, Gadfly. Tell me, is that your first or last name? Also, why did your parents hate you?” I shot back, my annoyance growing.

  He chuckled. “What, you don’t like my name, Madcap?”

  I was about to open my mouth and reply when something odd happened.

  There was a loud bang that made both of us jump. We looked around for the source of the sound. Gadfly found it first, his head tilted up, staring at the roof of the cage. One of the metal bars above us had bent in on itself.

  As if it had just contorted randomly.

  Then another one.

  I waited for the hyde beetles to come pouring out but there was no sign of them.

  And another a second later.

  “Is this…” Gadfly began, then seeing my face, said, “I’ll take that to say this isn’t you.”

  A second later the entire left side of the cage bent as if it had been hit by a charging oliphant.

  “Definitely not me,” I told him.

  But it was fascinating.

  Footsteps came running and two cultists, looking like they’d been woken from sleep, stood in the doorway, confusion plastered on their faces at the sight of the cell.

  “What the–” one began.

  He was cut off by the roof of the cell completely crumpling in. Gadfly and I both pushed ourselves back against the walls, though at this rate, those too were going to explode.

  “What is going on here?” came a cool, rigid voice from the door.

  The two cultists stepped aside to let in another one. The tall, gaunt one that had stood over me in the tavern stepped into the room.

  He surveyed the cage with curious detachment. “Interesting…” he said quietly. “This must be the mage.”

  His eyes were like dark little crystals as they landed on me.

  I shook my head.

  A thin blade slid out of his sleeve into his hand. Silvery bright metal. It looked very, very sharp.

  “That’ll be enough,” he said, stepping forward.

  So, my ploy had failed. Miserably, it should be noted. Not one of those little beetles took the bait. I would string up whichever of my pedagogues had told me of their existence.

  Or perhaps I was the cocky one.

  “Madcap,” Gadfly said, his tone strained. “Got any other tricks?”

  The cultist was advancing hesitantly, worried about the convulsing cage. Bars were still snapping…

  I was about to throw caution to the wind and try for some real magic, no matter the cost, when something else happened.

  The whole floor seemed to give way, and we fell, or more, the building fell. The world suddenly tilted.

  Metal bent and bulged, and the wood-sided walls splintered and broke. At first, I thought we were in some kind of earthquake.

  Then giant black beetles, the size of boulders, burst through the remaining floorboards, their teeth and pinchers whining. Their legs chittering like distorted, metallic bird calls.

  Chills ran down my spine at the sound and gooseflesh began to spread.

  Then the screaming began.